Life is not to be understood but to be taken              to its full potential
                                       A bit like love
               I don't know how our paths crossed or why we're here
             worrying on these questions is a sin
       For I enjoy the time we spend
                           The passion in your eyes is a dark brown yet shines a light hazel in the sun
         Black jet hair with every strand curling from end to end
                     My fingers running through it
I can feel your breath
              Releasing tension with each inhalation
       Whispering your doubts through every touch
     Your rich laugh full of sincerity allows for a smile
               Silence we share as we lean on each other
                        Everything around us could fall and we'd stay still in each other's arms
                       .Vulnerability.
To the moon and back
            Below the depths of the ocean
                         As high as birds can fly
As far as the milky way
        All the stars in the night sky combined
                                 As many times as the sun has set on the west
Every **** second since we first met
                 Have I always had feelings for you
                    Mediocre and immature at first
      Yet I've fallen completely and utterly in love with you
         Vulnerable love yet I leave it in your hands

heart and soul
poured out
like blood
on the ground
for all to see

people
walkin' on by
they don't
see me

vulnerable

cj 2016

distance could grow all the "i love yous" to "i miss yous"

this may not even be a poem but
i miss you

There is a place
in you
that needs a name
but you're an absolute beginner
at naming things.
Centred in this pathos, I've never known

whether to create stillness or bitter passion.
In this, there is a sacrifice,
something to see through to the end.

The openness I sometimes extract
can break me down.
Is it better
to find a way to say it?
Would it be better to hang for it

or to forget
how the fig is fertilised?
In its sweetness,
to forget
the distaste of undermining friendship.
I have stretched myself into the past.

I have stretched my body
to see the places it could end.
Vein bubbles
from where it started,
wet bloodgasps;
sorry smear of a poem

they write your name next to.
History repeats, all that's left;
neutrality at the cost of
a better passion,
and the count of
how many ribs you have and how many you've lost.

I abuse my fingers
and still expect them to carry me through.
There's always a way
to see trauma as something to crawl into.